


Discipline

by ghostofgatsby



Series: to obey and command [3]
Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM, Begging, Blow Jobs, Clothed Sex, Crying, Dirty Talk, Discipline, Dom/sub, Face Slapping, Face-Fucking, Impact Play, Kneeling, M/M, Military Kink, Multi, Objectification, Paddling, Spitroasting, Strapping, Subdrop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-15
Updated: 2016-08-15
Packaged: 2018-08-08 14:31:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7761586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostofgatsby/pseuds/ghostofgatsby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ross groans as he shoves himself upright. His skin glistens with a sheen of sweat.<br/>Smith chuckles from the side of the room. Ross knows he's been watching this entire time. He can feel his eyes on him.<br/>“Your attitude disappoints me, private,” Trott tuts, staring down disapprovingly. “You would think you'd learn your lesson after the last two times, but it appears that's not the case. What do you have to say for yourself?”<br/>Ross swallows thickly and glares back. “Maybe I'm tired of <em>your</em> fucking discipline, sir," he replies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Discipline

**Author's Note:**

> The second sequel to Orders, and the third Military Kink one-shot. Because of course I had to add Corporal Smith in, with him using Ross under Trott’s command.  
> All three Military Kink one-shots are now collected into a series, titled “to obey and command”.
> 
> cw: face slapping (once). objectification, as mentioned previously. Ross spits once. Trott uses the word "twat" once with vulgar, derogatory implication, which could be interpreted as a gendered slur in that case.  
> also, there is an air of “you have no choice/I make the rules” and that’s just roleplaying. everything they’re doing and the way they’re acting has been agreed upon prior to the scene.  
> If I need to tag something else, let me know.
> 
> reblog: https://ghostofgatsby13.wordpress.com/2016/08/15/discipline-ghostofgatsby
> 
> http://www.leatheretc.com/fetish/5497Slapper_Purple.html  
> the slapper Trott uses is something like this, only a little wider width wise. and probably all black (I just liked the purple on this one)

Trott circles Smith and Ross slowly, looking them up and down. They’re both at attention, staring straight ahead while dressed in military garb- shined shoes, pressed pants, uniform jackets, caps, and white gloves. Renting the uniforms was expensive, but why not go all out? As long as they didn't come in their pants, the dry cleaning wouldn't be a problem, and the uniforms could be easily returned.

Trott smiles slyly. The way Smith and Ross look make the price worth it. He’d decided to forego the leather for this scene. He opted instead for the uniforms and white cotton gloves. It was too close to the real thing, but he likes the way they look.

As Trott comes around to face Smith and Ross, the heels of his dress shoes tap against the wooden floor. He clears his throat. “At ease, Corporal Smith. Stand aside.”

“Yes, sir.” Smith’s mouth twitches and he clamps down on a smile. He marches to the side of the room, turns around, and stands with his back to the wall.

“Well, private...” Trott looks to Ross with a heavy sigh. “I refuse to believe your repeated insurgent attitudes have been made out of sheer stupidity. Times before, I have reminded you of the punishment you are owed to for your actions. And yet you stand before me again after _repeatedly_ breaking the rules.”

Ross says nothing.

“Who do you take me for?” Trott asks sternly, “Do you _really_ believe I should let your disobedience slide?”

Slowly, so slowly, Ross meets his eyes. His blue eyes are bright even in the dimmed lights of the room.

“Well? _Do you_ , private?” Trott asks him again.

“No, sir,” Ross answers.

Trott humphs. “Remove your hat and gloves.”

Ross moves his arms from his sides and pulls off the gloves one at at time. He folds them over each other, takes his hat off his head, and hands both to Trott. Trott carries them over to the side table and exchanges Ross’ things for something else. He returns and faces Ross again, hiding the item behind his back.

“You need a firm and hefty reminder of your place here, private,” Trott says, “You are a part of this infantry, and I will not stand for disregard and disobedience any longer. No matter the circumstances. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.” Trott takes a few steps backwards away from Ross, and glances pointedly at the floor. “Drop and give me twenty,” he commands.

Ross gets down on his hands and knees and begins doing push ups. He silently counts along with Trott. At the tenth push up, Trott puts his foot on Ross’ shoulder, pushing him back down, and adding more weight he has to fight against. The look on his face says, “Don’t you dare stop.”

Ross grits his teeth and obeys, muscles burning.

Trott counts quietly. “...Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty.”

Ross makes to stand up, but Trott’s foot stays on his shoulder.

“Give me another twenty, private. I don’t think the first set was good enough. In fact, I think you need more of a challenge. Corporal- come here and rest your weight on Private Ross’ other shoulder.”

“Yes, sir.”

Another heel; another set of twenty. Smith adds more weight than Trott does, and now the distribution is uneven.

Ross continues doing push ups. He bites his lip to keep concentrating on following the order.

"Hold your position," Trott says when Ross has finished the second set.

 _Dammit_. His breath comes labored, and his arms are burning.

“Return to the side, Corporal.” Trott says above him.

“Yes, sir.” Smith’s foot lifts and he returns to where he was standing.

Trott removes his foot as well. “Your punishment today is twenty strikes,” he says, revealing the slapper from behind his back and turning it in his hands. “You are to keep your position as stable as possible, private. You touch the floor; we start again. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Ross replies.

“What’s your color?”

“Green, sir.”

“Good.”

Trott circles behind him again, trailing the end of the slapper down Ross’ side. He tugs Ross’ pants and boxers down, exposing his ass to the air.

“Don’t move,” he warns.

Ross obeys.

Trott starts the hits off light, slowly increasing the strength and varying where they land. The short leather slapper is slimmer than a paddle, but wider than a belt. It’s flexible, and stings sharply at first. Every clap of leather to skin makes heat spread across Ross’ asscheeks. A hard hit has him cursing as his arm crumples inward and his elbow hits the floor. He pushes back up on his hands while Trott tuts.

“Another twenty, then. Do you understand me, private?”

“Yes, sir,” Ross mumbles.

“ _I said, do you understand me?_ ”

“Yes, _sir,_ ” Ross snaps in a disgusted tone. Holding himself up is proving difficult, and his arms are starting to shake.

“I wouldn’t get _bitter_ with me, private.” Trott says snidely back. “because this can get a lot harsher than you first intended me to give.”

_Crack_

The hits land harder this time.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck-” Ross mutters, curses growing louder.

_Crack_

“Your language is abhorrent,” Trott remarks.

The slapper comes down again.

_Crack_

“I suppose all your mouth is good for is choking on dick, isn’t it?” Trott asks, “Isn’t it, private?”

Ross doesn’t respond.

His arms are dropping. His elbows are centimeters from the floor.

“ _Answer me_.” Trott growls.

_Crack_

Ross shudders as his arms collapse again. _Dammit._ “Fuck...” He leans his face against the floor and groans. Smith chuckles from the side of the room.

“Get up, private. We’re back to one again.”

“ _Go fuck yourself,_ ” Ross snarls.

Trott laughs and sharply hits the slapper across Ross’ reddened cheeks, making him wince. “Oh, I don’t think so. You’re the one taking it tonight, sunshine, but you’re going to have to beg harder if you want it. And it’s not like you’re cooperating much- you didn’t answer my question.”

Ross chokes out an aggravated noise. Trott comes around in front of him. The leisurely sound of his footsteps makes Ross tense up. Trott tilts his chin up with the toe of his dress shoe so he can meet his eyes.

“All your mouth is good for is sucking dick, isn’t it, private? That, or eating shit. Isn’t it?” Trott asks, tilting his head to the side as he stars down at Ross. The underside of his shoe scrapes across Ross’ cheek.

“Fuck you,” Ross mutters in response.

“ _Isn’t it?_ ”

The toe of Trott’s dress shoe presses up under his chin, making Ross crane his neck upward.

Ross lets out a long, defeated sigh between his teeth. “Yes, sir.”

“What was that?” Trott asks mockingly, tapping his shoe under Ross’ chin.

“Yes, sir,” Ross says louder.

“ _Sorry,_ I couldn’t hear you-”

“ _Yes. Sir,_ ” Ross shouts.

Trott humphs smugly and moves his foot away. “That’s what I thought. Now. Lets see if you can get to twenty, hm? Maybe if you do you’ll actually get fucked sometime tonight.”

Trott circles around. Ross painfully levers himself up and they start again.

His wrists shake with the effort to hold himself in position. His forehead is a hair’s width from the floor. Ross stares at Smith’s shoes across the room for something to focus on other than the pain flaring up in his muscles. His ass burns. His knees wobble, and his toes strain in his shoes.

Every strike, it gets harder and harder to keep still. Twenty. He just has to make it to twenty. _Come on, Ross. come on. Come on..._

His arms are shaking. His shoulders are hunching.

“Twenty,” Trott says at last, and Ross drops onto his front in relief, panting heavily, cheek pressed to the cool wooden floor.

Trott lets him catch his breath. Ross hears footsteps as Trott returns the slapper to the side-table.

“Corporal, get your hand out of your fucking pants!” he snaps at Smith.

Ross muffles his amused snort.

“Sorry, sir.” Smith doesn’t sound sorry at all. He even sounds a little breathless.

Ross tries not to smirk.

“For fuck’s sake. Did I say you could touch yourself?” Trott sighs.

“No, sir. I can’t help it, when-”

“Fuck off. Shut up, and _stay still_ ,” Trott commands, “Don’t make me tell you twice.”

“Yes, sir...” Smith sighs.

Trott returns to Ross. His shoe taps Ross’ shoulder.

“Up, private. Kneel before me, hands behind your back.”

Ross groans as he shoves himself upright. It feels better not to strain his arms, but the welts on his ass flare up, and oh _fuck_ is that going to be sore tomorrow. Fuck, he’s half hard, too. He couldn’t really tell, so focused he was on everything else. His skin glistens with a sheen of sweat.

“Your attitude disappoints me, private.” Trott tuts, staring down disapprovingly. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

Ross swallows thickly and glares back. “Maybe I'm tired of _your_ fucking discipline, sir.”

All his can hear is his own breathing in the silence the follows. Smith’s probably smirking.

Trott says nothing. The look on his face darkens, and he calmly raises his hand and grabs Ross by the jaw. He tilts Ross’ chin up, and bends down, almost as if he were to kiss him.

“You arrogant, foolish boy.” Trott mutters. His grip tightens to the point of being painful. He strokes Ross’ cheek with his thumb; the cotton gloves are soft against his skin.

Ross grits his teeth.

“You really think you have a choice in this matter?” Trott asks, chuckling darkly. “You're just digging yourself deeper, sunshine. Did you learn _nothing_ from your punishments before? Do you truly aim to make a _mockery_ of myself and the infantry you stand for?”

Ross spits onto his hand.

Trott lets go of him and straightens his posture. He slowly removes his glove. His face is scarily impassive, and Ross doesn’t see it coming when he slaps him. The shock and sting of it makes Ross momentarily dizzy. He shudders.

Trott leans in again and grabs him by the hair. His fingers tighten as he pulls his head back. “Let me make this... _very_ clear,” he whispers hotly in Ross’ ear, “If you're going to _act_ like a _twat_ , then you're going to be _used_ like one. Understood?”

“Yes, sir...” Ross gasps. Across the room, he hears Smith’s feet shuffle, and a muffled “fuck”.

“Good.” Trott shoves Ross forward, gripping his hair and pressing his chin to the floor.

Ross turns his head and stares up at him.

Trott lets go. He stands up straight and beckons Smith over with a crook of his finger.

“Corporal- I think it’s time we put Private Ross here to good use.”

“Yes, sir.” Smith smirks as he steps forward. “He does have the best lips to suck cock, doesn’t he, Lieutenant?”

Trott rolls his eyes. “ _Shut up_ , Corporal. I didn’t call you here for your mouth, I called you for your dick.”

Ross snorts.

Smith huffs an amused breath. “Didn’t know my dick was that well-known in the infantry, sir.”

Trott gives Smith a look. “I don’t have time for your petty, insipid games today, Corporal Smith. I’ve lost what remaining patience I had with you two. So unless I ask you a direct question, I don’t want to hear a peep out of that cocksucking mouth of yours. Understood?”

“Yes, sir. Will I be using my mouth for cocksucking today, sir?” Smith grins cheekily.

“If you don’t _shut up_ , corporal, the only thing between your teeth will be the toe of my shoe. _Do I make myself clear?_ ”

“Yes, sir,” Smith answers sharply.

“Good.” Trott sighs exasperatedly and steps around Ross again. “Fuck his mouth, but don’t choke him. You have permission to come down his throat when you finish.”

Trott kneels behind Ross and shoves his pants further down his legs. “Keep your hands where they are, private. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Ross murmurs.

“Color?” Trott asks quieter.  
  
“Green, sir.”

Trott pecks a kiss to his shoulder. “Good.”

Smith kneels down in front of him. He undoes his pants and takes out his cock, stroking himself and brushing the head across Ross’ lips.

“Open wide, private.” Smith grins.

“Shut the fuck _up_ , Corporal. Did I say you could speak?” Trott snaps.

Smith sighs but obeys.

Ross lets Smith guide his dick into his mouth, doing the things with his tongue he knows Smith likes.

Smith groans.

Ross smirks around him, and then has to keep from choking as Trott’s slick fingers start pressing inside him, working him open cautiously but diligently. He’s guessing Trott had lube in his pocket or something.

Smith gently fucks his mouth with a hand in Ross’ hair. His lips are parted as he pants and groans softly. _Fuck_ , he mouths to Ross, _fuck, you look so fucking good_. He grins.

Ross sucks a little harder, moaning around Smith’s dick as Trott curls his fingers. Too soon the pressure pulls away.

“Pull back, Corporal,” Trott orders.

Smith whines through his teeth, but obeys.

Ross licks his lips.

Trott’s hand taps his shoulder. “Beg me.”

Ross hears the sound of Trott’s undoing his pants. “Please,” he starts.

“ _Beg,_ private, _that’s an order!_ ” The tone of Trott’s voice kickstarts the words.

“ _Please fuck me_ , sir. Fuck me hard, sir, please, _please_ fuck me,” Ross says in a rush.

“Hands behind your back.”

Ross obeys. He’s mostly kneeling on the ground, bent over with his head in Smith’s lap. Trott holds his wrists together with one hand, and slowly presses into him. Smith tilts Ross’ head up with a hand under his chin, watching silently for an okay. When Ross feels ready, he nods, and Smith slides his dick past Ross’ lips again.

Trott starts fucking Ross in earnest, while Smith uses Ross’ mouth. Smith’s gloved hand rests on the back of his neck, and brushes the nape of his hairline. Trott, contrastingly, has a tight grip on his hips.

Ross can feel the sweat clinging to his skin and soaking through his uniform. His hair is damp with it, and his fringe would stick to his forehead if Smith didn’t have his hand in it. Every thrust from Trott sends a wave of pleasure through him, as well as prickly hot pain from the welts on his ass. Ross tries to keep his mouth slack and breath through his nose, trying not to choke on Smith’s dick. It’s easier said than done, but when he gags Smith lets up the tiniest bit.

Smith makes the loudest noises of the three of them, never mind Ross’ mouth is occupied. Ross stares up at him, at the way his dick moves in and out of Ross’ mouth, and the shape of Smith’s mouth as groans and muttered curses fall from it.  Smith’s skin is flushed where the uniform doesn’t cover- pink in his cheeks and down his neck. He rocks back on his heels, and there’s a slight tremble in his legs when he comes, moaning loudly.

Ross swallows around him. He licks his lips when Smith pulls out, and stays bent over.

Smith does up his pants and grins. His chest heaves as he catches his breath and watches them.

Trott pushes at Ross’ shoulder, bending him over further towards the ground. He leans over Ross’ back with his lips at his ear.

“You're not in charge here, are you, sunshine?” he asks, “You don't make the rules. Do you?”

Ross has a hard time catching his breath. “N-no, sir,” he whispers, unsure if the question is rhetorical or not.

Trott fucks him harder. Smith’s hand finds Ross hair again. He crouches down beside him, and presses Ross’ cheek to floor.

Ross whimpers. He feels so fucking used, and sore, and turned on. It makes his head spin. He’s so hard he hopes he’s not dripping on the floor. But Trott and Smith have focused solely on their own pleasure.

Trott nips his neck and drags his teeth lightly across skin. “This is your place, private. At my feet. Taking it up the ass for me and the rest of your infantry,” he sneers, sounding out of breath. His thrusts are starting to stutter, and Ross knows by the pitch of his voice that he’s close to coming.

“If you aim to be a fool, this is what you're deserving of,” Trott continues, “A firm hand, a sharp beating, a thick cock, and a hard fuck. This is what you get.” The slap of skin on skin echoes in the room.

Trott comes, shuddering against Ross’ back. Smith’s hand briefly moves from Ross’ neck, and Trott presses his forehead to the spot momentarily.

Ross can’t find himself to say anything. He listens to the sound of their breathing in the dim light of the bedroom, avoiding Smith’s eyes.

Trott pecks a kiss to the back of Ross’ neck, and pulls out. He strokes his hands down Ross’ thighs, and extricates his uniform pants and boxers from around his ankles.

Smith guides him to straighten his posture, and Ross winces sharply as his knees press into the wooden floor. Those are definitely going to be bruised tomorrow.

Trott stands and does up his pants again. He walks around in front of Ross and stands behind Smith’s shoulder, looking him over.

Ross’ arms feel like they’re stuck in place where he’s holding them behind his back.

Trott tuts down at him. “At least you’re enjoying yourself, private. Though I'm not sure you’re deserving, with how often you disobey me and the rules of this infantry.”

Ross swallows thickly and licks his lips. “Please, sir. Please,” he begs, voice hoarse. He’s dizzy with sensation, at the brink of release if only Trott will let him.

“Please what, private?” Trott coos. He smirks as he leans forward to strokes Ross’ cheek

Ross leans into the touch. “Please let me come, sir.”

“Let you?”

“Make me.” Ross amends, panting breathlessly. “Please make me come, sir.”

Trott smiles. “Good boy.” The words are so blissful to hear that Ross can’t help but smile back.

Trott moves his hand from Ross’ cheek to cup the back of Smith’s head. “You heard him, Corporal. Make him come,” he orders.

“Yes, _sir_ ,” Smith replies gleefully. He promptly leans down to take Ross’ dick into his mouth.

Ross shudders at the sensation and closes his eyes. It feels like too much, having Smith’s lips and tongue moving so torturously slowly, after all this time he’s been hard. It feels too good.

Smith sucks harder and Trott’s hand finds Ross’ hair again. Ross can’t stop his hips from jerking upward as he comes hard, moaning weakly. The soreness in his body is momentarily pushed away, and replaced with pleasure that makes him loose-limbed and hazy. He’s warm and relaxed, and he doesn’t feel like moving for the time being.

Smith pulls off and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Ross can feel Trott crouch down next to him, and hears his knees crack.

Trott lets Ross lean into him, stroking his hair and whispering how good he is, how well he did, little bits of praise that make Ross feel useful.

“You did such a good job, Ross,” Smith whispers, kissing his cheek.

Trott takes Ross’ hand and squeezes gently.

Ross squeezes back. Scene over. Smith rubs his back as he slowly comes back to himself somewhat. Fuck, his knees are sore...

Ross rubs his cheek against Trott’s hand.

“Can you stand, sunshine?” Trott asks him quietly.

Ross nods, even though he isn’t sure. Smith and Trott help him up. Ross keeps his eyes closed, and just breathes, stretching his legs. Scene over. It feels harder to separate himself from it this time. He still wants to call Trott sir, and do as he asks.

“Ross?” Trott strokes his cheek again. “You alright?”

Ross nods. His balance feels a little off. His muscles are sore, and his ass burns. Smith has his arms around him, supporting him, so Ross doesn’t think he’ll fall.

“Can I go get something to clean you up?”

Ross nods again, and listens to Trott leave the room. As he does, part of him wants Trott back. Even though he knows it’ll only be a moment. He wants Trott to come back and tell him if he did okay. Smith is here, too, but...

Ross tries to catch his breath again. He realizes the quiet gasping noises he hears are his. He feels tears trekking down his cheeks.

Smith holds him closer, kissing Ross’ jawline. “You did so good, Ross. Fuck, that was so fucking hot. You did great.”

Ross wants to cover his face with his hands. His breath hitches in his throat. _Come on, don’t cry_ , he berates himself, _This isn't bad, it's fine. You're fine, why are you-_

He can feel himself shaking.

“Hey. Hey, you're alright. I've got you. I've got you...shhh, shhh...easy...” Smith rubs his back, Ross muffles his soft crying noises into his shoulder. They shuffle around a little, as if slow dancing. Trott rejoins them eventually and cleans Ross up. They undress out of their rented uniforms, and curl up on the bed.

Ross lays down with the blanket tucked around him, and his face buried in Smith's chest. The crying is starting to wind down. He’s not as cold anymore, and Trott had gotten him some water to sate his thirst. Ross relaxes more while Smith runs his fingers through his hair. Trott kisses the back of his neck and shoulder blades where the blanket doesn't cover him.

“I- I'm okay.” Ross finds himself saying suddenly. He doesn’t want them to worry. “I'm okay, I just...”

“Shh, we've got you, sunshine. We're right here. It’s alright.” Trott rubs his back soothingly. “Okay?”

Ross nuzzles a little closer to Smith and sighs. “Yeah, alright...”

“How are you feeling?”

“Tired.” Ross lets his eyes close. “Sore.”

Trott chuckles. “Yeah, I’d imagine you’re pretty worn out. I can put something on those welts for you.”

“In a bit.” Ross smiles sleepily. Trott and Smith’s touch is comforting. “I just...want to lay here and not move for a while.” He chuckles.

Smith yawns beside him. “Everybody needs nap time after a good scene,” he mumbles, tightening his arm around Ross’ waist.

“Get some rest, sunshine. We’ll talk more after your nap.”

Ross sighs, pleased.

“You did well, Ross,” Trott murmurs as he falls asleep. “You did very well...”

 

Trott massages the heels of his palms into Ross’ back, rubbing the tension out of his muscles. He gently digs his thumbs into the back of Ross’ calves, and carefully rubs bruise cream into his sore asscheeks.

Smith smirks at all the groans and noises Ross makes. He eats Wheat Thins in bed, occasionally feeding one to Ross, as he idly scrolls through Twitter on his phone. He shows Ross an occasional amusing gif or picture just to see him smile.

Trott tuts in annoyance. “Smith, you’re getting crumbs everywhere!”

“I’m hungry, Trott!” Smith whines.

“Then order food! You have a phone, so call for takeout.”

“But I have snacks at hand.”

Trott groans.

Ross snorts at their antics, a lazy smile stuck to his face.

Trott settles down next to him when he’s done. He cards his fingers through Ross’  hair and steals the box of Wheat Thins from Smith.

“Hey!”

Trott laughs. “No more snacks for you. Order us some food, Corporal!”

Smith grumbles to himself while searching takeout places on his phone.

Ross basks in the comfort and warmth of them both. After their nap, they’d showered, and laid back down. Today’s scene made him feel electric, like static was humming under his skin. He felt immensely pleased with himself, especially after all the praise and kisses he got while Trott and Smith scrubbed him clean in the shower.

“Ross?” Trott asks with his hand digging in the Wheat Thins box, “You’ve been awfully quiet. You sure you’re alright? Not too sore? It’ll be worse tomorrow...” Trott frowns. There were already bruises rising on Ross’ knees, and Trott had criticised himself for not putting something down on the wooden floors.

“I’m alright, Trott,” Ross reassures him. He pushes himself up just to peck a kiss to Trott’s lips. “Really. It was a good scene. With both of you.” He smiles.

Trott smiles back and feeds him a cracker. “I’m glad you think so, sunshine. Let us know if there’s anything else you need, alright?”

Ross nods and munches happily.


End file.
